‘You’ll have the media opportunities when the flood goes through and the television reporters fly in to get graphic pictures of the aftermath,’ Harry pointed out, but his voice was less forceful—softer—as if he was saying the words but thinking something else.
Her skin tingled as she remembered another ‘something else’. Earlier in the afternoon—before Anthony had arrived.
Had he been about to kiss her?
An exasperated noise brought her to her senses.
‘Women!’ he muttered, striding back and forth across her square of carpet. ‘It’s like trying to figure nuclear fission. In fact, nuclear fission might be easier. One minute she wants a plan—a grand campaign—and the next she’s sitting dewy-eyed at her desk, gazing into space and thinking who knows what!’
He stopped in front of her and frowned down at her.
‘It’s Paul Gamble, I suppose.’ He growled the words with a fierce intensity. ‘Well, let me tell you, the man is as well known for his inconstancy as he is for his womanising. Oh, he’s charming all right, and as smooth as silk, but if you’re expecting any long-term relationship, forget it, pretty doctor. He’s a strictly love-’em-and-leave-’em type of man.’
His tirade brought Kirsten out of her dream of brown eyes and kisses. It also reminded her of a grievance she’d been almost willing to forget.
She straightened in her chair and glared up at him, hoping her eyes conveyed some of the anger she was feeling.
‘Let’s leave Paul Gamble’s charm out of this conversation—though I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would recognise charm if it bit you on the backside. Let’s talk about you bringing him here—your lack of trust in my ability, your total disregard for my feelings when you asked your own doctor to fly in to take over my job.’
The escalating rage pushed her to her feet so she stood toe to toe—almost nose to nose—with this man whom destiny had thrust into her path, apparently for the sole purpose of adding to her multitude of problems.
‘Second opinions are all very well, but to actually…’ Kirsten prodded her finger into Harry’s chest to emphasise her point, but before she could continue he captured it and then grasped her whole hand, his touch drying her lips, her mouth, so badly that no more words would come.
The brown eyes that had so enticed her stared down into hers, unreadable for a moment, then softening in a way that made the quivers start right up again.
‘Paul Gamble came of his own free will,’ Harry told her, his voice gruff now, not fierce at all. ‘Do you think I’d want a snake like him around—?’
He stopped abruptly, uncertainty dimming the fire she’d seen flaring to life in the brown depths.
He dropped her hand and moved away, crossing to her window and looking out.
‘I’m a soldier. It’s my life. I’m moving on. You do see that, don’t you?’
She did see that, more was the pity! She also understood. There didn’t seem to be anything she could say so she remained silent, staring at his straight, strong back—thinking how contrary attraction could be.
The tension in the room was growing, though it was nothing compared to the tightness in Kirsten’s chest. She had to break it—make out that she didn’t care.
Or, better still, that she didn’t understand?
She drew a deep breath, blew it out, took another, then crossed to stand beside him, looking past the tents to where the water was noticeably higher.
‘So you can’t help me save the hospital,’ she said, and inwardly congratulated herself on the evenness of her voice. ‘Well, that’s OK. You’ve given me some ideas. We’ve managed so far on our own. I guess we can keep going.’
He turned to her, his confusion so apparent she couldn’t hide the smile that twitched across her lips.
There was silence for a moment, then he met and matched her smile with a teasing, slightly lopsided one of his own.
‘You little witch!’ he murmured, then he took her in his arms, bent his head towards her and kissed her firmly on the lips.
It was a mess, Harry realised as soon as he tasted the tempting sweetness. A snafu of major proportions, he thought as his tongue teased them into parting and warm moistness overwhelmed his senses.
Her slight body seemed made to fit against him, to mould its pliancy to the planes and angles of his drill-toughened bone and muscle. His fingers combed their way through her soft curls to hold her head steady as he drank in the nectar of her kisses and met the sudden heat of her response with even hotter demands of his own.
It’s just a kiss, he told himself, struggling to breathe without lessening his assault or diminishing her response.
But his body knew it wasn’t ‘just’ anything! It strained against her melting softness, wanting to take more, give more, demand from her the ultimate acquiescence—the total submission that in the giving was also total domination.
‘It’s just a kiss!’
He heard the whispered echo of his thoughts—fortunately only part of his thoughts—as small hands pushed against his chest and a coolness on his lips told him she’d moved away.
Harry looked down at her downcast head, and saw the hectic flush on her cheeks. It didn’t take a genius to work out she’d spoken to herself. He guessed it meant she was as rattled as he was. Which was some satisfaction!
‘I have to see my patients,’ she muttered, stepping backwards as if she needed to make space between them. ‘You came from Mr Graham. He was asleep? Was that what you said?’
He guessed her stumbling sentences were an attempt at normality—and could hardly fault them as she was doing better than he was.
‘He’s asleep,’ he managed to confirm. ‘Or was when I left him.’
He paused, hesitating, wanting more than anything to confide in her—to ask her advice, seek her guidance.
‘Kirsten?’
She looked up at him and the blueness of her eyes took his breath away. He forgot his problems, forgot the first kiss had been a mistake, and drew her back into his arms and began all over again.
Instead of pushing at his chest, this time her hands moved against it, then her arms slid around his waist and she was holding him as tightly as he held her, their bodies swapping sensations for which there were no words.
A sharp rapping on the door brought Kirsten to her senses and she broke away, pressing her fingers to her cheeks and scurrying towards her desk and dropping into her chair as she called, ‘Come in.’
Ken stepped cautiously through the door and glanced from her to Harry.
‘The army doctor’s been looking for the major,’ he said. ‘And Allan Smith’s just come in with a lump in his groin. Says it’s been there for a while but he’s been too busy to do anything about it until the major sent them home to rest today.’
She watched Harry slip away and felt a mix of relief and disappointment, though perhaps, with him out of the room, it would be easier to regain control.
‘I’ll come now,’ she told Ken. ‘Did you check for an infected wound?’
He grinned at her.
‘What do you think?’ he teased her. ‘Apparently, he spiked his calf on something a week or so ago and then forgot about it. It’s been a bit sore but those blokes have been too busy to worry about even basic first aid. The area is red, hot and tender to the touch but there’s no outward indication of an abscess.’
Kirsten eased herself to her feet, pleased to have a problem of sufficient interest to take her mind off Harry Graham. But as she walked down the corridor to their newly set up A and E rooms, she realised Allan had presented her with more than an interesting problem—he’d brought a dilemma along with him.
He was sitting on one of their examination tables, his legs outstretched in front of him, looking supremely uncomfortable in this alien environment. Kirsten greeted him, then examined the black mark where something had pierced his skin and left behind who knew what bacteria before the skin had closed over again, trapping the bugs inside.
‘
There’s obviously an infection there somewhere and I’m going to have to cut the skin and drain it out,’ she told the man, who was one of the stalwarts of the local branch of the State Emergency Service. ‘After that, I’ll leave a plug of material in there to keep the wound open and allow any further infection to drain out.’
She eyed the grey-haired man warily.
‘Is that suggesting anything to you?’
He studied her for a moment, then smiled.
‘Can’t you give me something—some antibiotics to fight the infection—and leave the leg as it is?’
Kirsten shook her head.
‘The infection has already spread to your lymph glands—that’s why you’ve got a lump in your groin. If I don’t get rid of it, it will go on from there through your entire body and you’ll be a very sick man.’
‘But if you leave it open and I go back into the water…’ He swung around, dropped his legs back over the edge of the table and was about to get off, obviously intending to leave his wound untreated if it meant he could no longer be part of the fight against the floods.
‘Exactly,’ Kirsten told him, holding up a hand in a ‘wait right there’ gesture. ‘Listen. Most of the hard work is done. All you and your men can do now is wait for the water to go down, then help with the clean-up. I’m not saying that’s going to be easy, but it’s not as urgent. Surely there’s a job you can do that doesn’t involve wading around in bacteria-ridden slush.’
He looked at her, shook his head, scratched his fingers through his hair for a long minute, then finally nodded.
‘I guess I could take over the roster from Bertie,’ he suggested doubtfully. ‘He’s anxious to get into Vereton to see his missus and kids as soon as the back road’s clear again. With the army here, one man won’t be missed.’
‘Excellent idea!’ Kirsten told him. ‘And the drain will only need to be in your leg for forty-eight hours at the most. After that I should be able to wrap the wound in a waterproof dressing, so if you do happen to get it wet it won’t matter quite as much. But that doesn’t mean plunging back into the thick of things again. At least, not until your leg’s healed.’
She turned to Ken and together they stepped away.
‘I think the area’s too inflamed for a local anaesthetic to be effective when I do the incision. It’s the pressure of the build-up of pus that causes a lot of the pain and to add extra fluid makes things worse.’
‘A light anaesthetic?’ Ken asked. ‘I’ve checked his BP and pulse, and his records from previous visits don’t list any allergies. What do you want?’
‘Meperidine. One hundred grams IM, then a slow IV infusion of diazepam. It should make him drowsy enough to not worry about what we do. Meperidine first—it takes about twenty minutes to become effective.’
Ken moved away to prepare the injection and Kirsten explained to her patient what she intended doing.
‘You’re going to knock me out for a little cut on the leg?’ Allan objected.
‘Believe me, it’s better this way,’ Kirsten assured him. ‘Now lie back and relax. The first injection is feel-good stuff. Ken will keep you company while it works and I’ll do a quick check on the other folk we have in here and be back to do the cruel part.’
‘You’re all the same, you women,’ Allan grumbled good-naturedly. ‘Love inflicting pain on men.’
‘Huh!’ Kirsten retorted. ‘What about the pain men inflict on women? I don’t see many guys lining up to have the babies!’
‘If that were only possible! Physically possible, I mean,’ a deep voice said, and Kirsten turned to see Paul walking into the room, and behind him, looking cool, casual, and totally unconcerned, Harry.
‘I’m taking Harry on the guided tour. Apparently you’ve been too busy with other things to show him around. He was quite affronted when he realised I knew far more about the place than he did!’
Kirsten avoided checking to see Harry’s affronted look. In fact, she rather hoped that Paul, in his role of tour guide, would move on to somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
‘You going to introduce us to your patient?’ Paul asked.
So much for hope, Kirsten thought as she did the right thing by all three men.
Harry, apparently recognising Allan from their joint efforts at the levee bank, showed no interest in his reason for being at the hospital and began instead to question him about likely weaknesses in the water-diversion plan. Ken returned as the conversation moved on to how best to organize the clean-up, the number of men that should be included in each crew and what equipment, apart from pumps and shovels, would be needed.
‘Last time we didn’t have enough pressure hoses. I know it sounds daft, using water where there’s already been so much, but that shifts the mud faster than anything else,’ Allan explained.
He looked at Harry.
‘Your lot has plenty of that gear, then?’ he asked, and as Harry began detailing what his ‘lot’ had brought with them Kirsten dithered.
What she should be doing was shooting the meperidine into one of Allan’s muscles, but getting close to Allan to do that meant getting closer to Harry Graham.
Not advisable at this stage.
Or she could leave it all to Ken. Come back when Allan was ready for her scalpel.
Ken set the tray down beside the examination table and she stepped warily towards it. If only Harry had been on the other side…
‘Want us out of the way?’ Paul asked, and she flashed him a look of gratitude, then realised she might have overdone it somewhat when Paul winked at her and Harry, who’d been in a position to see both the smile and the wink, growled something unintelligible in her ear.
‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Surely there’s somewhere else the major hasn’t seen.’
‘The virgins’ cells?’ Paul suggested. ‘Knowing Harry, it’s probably been a while.’
Apparently it was a male joke, for Allan, Ken and Paul all laughed while Harry did his growling thing again and Kirsten felt acutely uncomfortable.
The two men left the room and she proceeded with her task, swabbing Allan’s arm then easing the narcotic into the muscle.
‘I’ll be back,’ she said to Ken, and left the room. What she needed was some breathing space, and now that her office held memories she didn’t immediately want to face, the great outdoors would have been first choice. But she had patients to visit, staff to see. And the great outdoors were exceedingly damp.
Experience told her that if she didn’t do a round now, things would almost certainly get hectic later. And fate being what it was, she’d regret she’d missed the opportunity.
She started with James, delighted when he smiled at her, his grumpiness lessening as he pieced his memory back together.
‘Major Graham says it was you who pulled me out of the water,’ the young man began.
‘Biggest fish I’ve caught in ages,’ Kirsten joked, but even the mention of Harry’s name was starting the quivers now. She had to fight whatever it was between them. Think of something else.
‘I thought about giving you a kiss and tossing you back, the way the fisherman on TV does it,’ she added lightly, ‘but you looked good enough to keep.’
‘I’ve seen that chap on TV,’ James told her. ‘I’m better, aren’t I, if I can remember things like that?’
‘Almost better, but you’re to stay right there in bed and rest. I’ve been far more worried about the crack in your skull than your memory. I was pretty sure it would come back, given time.’
‘But I can’t remember hitting my head—or even being down near the levee bank. Major Graham’s had me office-bound practically the whole time we’ve been in town.’
James sounded irritated again but, then, Kirsten knew how irritating Harry Graham could be. Which made the attraction thing even more peculiar.
Work, she reminded herself.
‘You might never remember the few minutes prior to the injury,’ she told James. ‘That can happen with a blow to the
temporal region of the brain. Don’t let it worry you.’
James pulled a face that told her he didn’t think much of losing even so small a piece of memory, but relaxed back against his pillows and didn’t argue.
Kirsten chatted to him for a few minutes, repeated her instructions about rest, then moved on to visit Moira.
‘She’s been eating far better,’ Peggy told her after she’d waved Kirsten back out into the corridor because Moira was sleeping. ‘I thought we’d have to talk about tube-feeding, like you’d said, but today she’s been really good.’
Kirsten heard the hope in the older woman’s voice.
‘If sheer will-power can keep someone alive, then yours is doing that for Moira,’ she said huskily. ‘You’ve been a fine friend to her, Peggy. A wonderful support.’
‘She’s so good it’s easy,’ Peggy whispered, her voice thick with emotions she rarely showed. Then she sniffed, and grinned at Kirsten. ‘Well, I can’t be standing here being maudlin, now can I? Bella will be needing a hand with the dinners.’
She scurried away and Kirsten smiled as she watched her disappear down the corridor.
Male voices from Chipper’s room suggested that the major’s guided tour had stalled again. Without conscious effort, Kirsten sorted out one voice in particular, reminded herself again how impossible it was and moved on, skipping her old friend to look in on Mr Curtis. Mrs Mathers was there, regaling him with the story of her rescue. True to his gentlemanly nature, the old man nodded and smiled, although Kirsten guessed the tale made little sense to him.
Harry had that gentlemanly streak in him—though whether learnt or natural, Kirsten didn’t know.
And probably never would, she thought gloomily as she pressed on with her self-appointed task.
Next was Captain Woulfe, who was apparently comfortable enough after his bath, for he was engaged in a deadly game of Snakes and Ladders with Meg and Anthony.
‘Don’t let them bug you,’ she warned the young soldier.
‘Bug me? They’re saving me from going right off my head with boredom. When can I walk on this cast?’
‘Not for a while,’ Kirsten told him, ‘but we’ve wheelchairs available if you want to get around, although you’ll be restricted to the building. I don’t want you losing control and flying down the hill into the flood waters.’
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